У одного из моих главных вдохновителей по жизни, Лис зимой, есть новый, очень хороший текст по "Игре Престолов", а главное, как говорит мой отец, "по самой мечтательной и гуманистичной" части этого литературного цикла. "Глаза смотрящего", собственно. Мой отзыв/комментарий, назовите, как пожелаете, я вновь срифмовала, и похоже у меня есть нераскрытый литературный кинк на не просто дружбе двух мальчиков, учитывая, то огромное количество вещей, которые я пишу про таких вот мальчиков. Должно быть все оттого, что в детстве я хотела быть мальчиком-другом-другому мальчику, потому что кидаться гнилыми яблоками в голову моей бабки и лазать на трухлявые деревья одной было не ахти. А меня тут развезло на 66 строчек, похоже я становлюсь борзописцем, который не умеет говорить кратко и по-делу.
Прослушать или скачать The Whole of the Moon бесплатно на Простоплеер
Оказывается, Майк Скотт сказал все до меня еще в 85-ом году.
Unicorns and cannonballs, palaces and piers,
trumpets, towers and tenements
wide oceans full of tears
flags, rags, ferryboats, scimitars and scarves
every precious dream and vision underneath the stars
You climbed on the ladder
with the wind in your sails
you came like a comet
blazing your trail
too high, too far, too soon
You saw the whole of the moon
Boys And Darkness
i
Those who roam in night are afraid of darkness.
Their march is unsteady and daring and gawky, unless
they gain someone, a person to whom they are destined to cling.
So they start treading on darkness and are not afraid of a single thing -
Here is a boy who is always surrounded by shadows.
He pretends to be deaf, hoping that the window bestows
mercy on him and won't let the shadows to use a jigsaw
as at night they start to crawl knocking on his windows
Once they nearly cut up the window frame working all night.
The sawdust stung his eyes and skin and he became blind.
The shadows whispered in his eyers the truth about himself
trilling away like nightingales thus the boy turned grey and deaf.
At least the shadow which wore faces of all the people he loved
clambered on our boy, the shadows had predicted him the outcome,
she sealed his mouth with the kiss and he became dumb.
At dawn the shadows left his body, they laughed and shoved.
He was still lying on the bed - blind, deaf and dumb was our boy.
He was grey as an old man, paralyzed with the touch and poignant joy,
mesmerized with the words still swinging in his head in a merry-go-round
type of a motion. After that night he saw no man, heard no sound,
said no prophesy, kissed no mouth, but he was never afraid of night again
as he saw no light, no darkness. He was neither a boy nor a man.
ii
He, the prophet, was born in the woods and he would die in the woods
He is used to darkness so his wide eyes are open like two torches -
oh how they shine with the electric light. His limbs are covered with wounds,
his neck has a knot tied around it, his body is embroidered with scorches.
The clouds like ephemeral tectonic plates close up above him.
The Rorschach bruises blossom on his evergreen skin.
The cold, nibbled to crumbs starlight is apathetic and prim.
The gods simply would never descend to him from within.
He is a boy who walks raking aside the wood, raking aside the night
with his bare hands and the empty head and a blank map.
The boy doesn't like words, he will never trust them. They blight,
he compares them with nails and he won't fall into the same trap
all over again. Like human nails words grow fast when you are young.
With time they face fragility, dryness or fungus and that is incurable.
The boy keeps his mouth shut and strains his ears to hear the unsung
man - the man who lives in his own shell, so solid and durable.
The boy has an ability to travel to all the universes and places,
he has an ability to break bread with the dead, that's what he does
and pays for that with seeing the most horrific events and faces
and pays for that with burning from the core, that's what he does.
At last he sees the unsung man in his dream - weak, but seeking for force,
so he slays all the shadows around him and calls till his voice is hoarse.
iii
They meet and speak and dance in their dreams.
Two boys, they know that only those who are afraid of night -
tread in the complete darkness. They don't trust the daylight -
both of them don't believe that life is what it seems.
The summer's gone in these woods and they head with it to the north.
Cheek to cheek, like good old pals to drink brotherhood together
from the chalice of the coming winter and night so they set forth.
The boys crawl and clamber up and run at the end of their tether.
The fading flowers trickle through their fingers and turn to ash.
The unreal reality of their journey is enlightened with a flash.
They know that fearlessness is the power begotten by indifference,
they eat from each other's hands and mouths and see no interference.
They salute to the moon and scratch their arms with thorny bushes -
the flesh is bleeding so hard as if it was deflowered amid the bare trees
so they suck each other's blood as if the mother's nipple. The keys
to the kingdom they look for are still unfound. They need rest, no pushes.
The remains of the summer are waiting for the permission to leave.
They eat acorns, drink each other's saliva and integrate in their dreams -
the only place where the dying unsung boy's memories can be relived,
the only place where the prophet's dying consciousness finally gleams.
When they fall down the prophet says: “You're the best man I've ever redeemed”
and the unsung boy thinks him good-bye: “You're the best man I've ever dreamed”.
Прослушать или скачать The Whole of the Moon бесплатно на Простоплеер
Оказывается, Майк Скотт сказал все до меня еще в 85-ом году.
Unicorns and cannonballs, palaces and piers,
trumpets, towers and tenements
wide oceans full of tears
flags, rags, ferryboats, scimitars and scarves
every precious dream and vision underneath the stars
You climbed on the ladder
with the wind in your sails
you came like a comet
blazing your trail
too high, too far, too soon
You saw the whole of the moon
Boys And Darkness
i
Those who roam in night are afraid of darkness.
Their march is unsteady and daring and gawky, unless
they gain someone, a person to whom they are destined to cling.
So they start treading on darkness and are not afraid of a single thing -
Here is a boy who is always surrounded by shadows.
He pretends to be deaf, hoping that the window bestows
mercy on him and won't let the shadows to use a jigsaw
as at night they start to crawl knocking on his windows
Once they nearly cut up the window frame working all night.
The sawdust stung his eyes and skin and he became blind.
The shadows whispered in his eyers the truth about himself
trilling away like nightingales thus the boy turned grey and deaf.
At least the shadow which wore faces of all the people he loved
clambered on our boy, the shadows had predicted him the outcome,
she sealed his mouth with the kiss and he became dumb.
At dawn the shadows left his body, they laughed and shoved.
He was still lying on the bed - blind, deaf and dumb was our boy.
He was grey as an old man, paralyzed with the touch and poignant joy,
mesmerized with the words still swinging in his head in a merry-go-round
type of a motion. After that night he saw no man, heard no sound,
said no prophesy, kissed no mouth, but he was never afraid of night again
as he saw no light, no darkness. He was neither a boy nor a man.
ii
He, the prophet, was born in the woods and he would die in the woods
He is used to darkness so his wide eyes are open like two torches -
oh how they shine with the electric light. His limbs are covered with wounds,
his neck has a knot tied around it, his body is embroidered with scorches.
The clouds like ephemeral tectonic plates close up above him.
The Rorschach bruises blossom on his evergreen skin.
The cold, nibbled to crumbs starlight is apathetic and prim.
The gods simply would never descend to him from within.
He is a boy who walks raking aside the wood, raking aside the night
with his bare hands and the empty head and a blank map.
The boy doesn't like words, he will never trust them. They blight,
he compares them with nails and he won't fall into the same trap
all over again. Like human nails words grow fast when you are young.
With time they face fragility, dryness or fungus and that is incurable.
The boy keeps his mouth shut and strains his ears to hear the unsung
man - the man who lives in his own shell, so solid and durable.
The boy has an ability to travel to all the universes and places,
he has an ability to break bread with the dead, that's what he does
and pays for that with seeing the most horrific events and faces
and pays for that with burning from the core, that's what he does.
At last he sees the unsung man in his dream - weak, but seeking for force,
so he slays all the shadows around him and calls till his voice is hoarse.
iii
They meet and speak and dance in their dreams.
Two boys, they know that only those who are afraid of night -
tread in the complete darkness. They don't trust the daylight -
both of them don't believe that life is what it seems.
The summer's gone in these woods and they head with it to the north.
Cheek to cheek, like good old pals to drink brotherhood together
from the chalice of the coming winter and night so they set forth.
The boys crawl and clamber up and run at the end of their tether.
The fading flowers trickle through their fingers and turn to ash.
The unreal reality of their journey is enlightened with a flash.
They know that fearlessness is the power begotten by indifference,
they eat from each other's hands and mouths and see no interference.
They salute to the moon and scratch their arms with thorny bushes -
the flesh is bleeding so hard as if it was deflowered amid the bare trees
so they suck each other's blood as if the mother's nipple. The keys
to the kingdom they look for are still unfound. They need rest, no pushes.
The remains of the summer are waiting for the permission to leave.
They eat acorns, drink each other's saliva and integrate in their dreams -
the only place where the dying unsung boy's memories can be relived,
the only place where the prophet's dying consciousness finally gleams.
When they fall down the prophet says: “You're the best man I've ever redeemed”
and the unsung boy thinks him good-bye: “You're the best man I've ever dreamed”.